The Tempo of His Heart
by Jalen Strix
Summary: Inside the belly of the beast, after giving up hope, Captain Hook discovers a way to get his revenge on Pan.  This way involves a witch and, as is the way of witches, turns out rather different than Hook imagined.
1. In which the captain makes a bargain

_Author's Note: This story was inspired by parts of Enola's Kidnapped Series. Much thanks for an image that would not get out of my mind, and thus spawned this story. I do not own Peter Pan, Captain Hook (alas!), or anything else from the Peter Pan universe. I'm a huge fan of the 2003 Peter Pan movie, and so my Captain Hook is really the one embodied by Jason Isaacs. This story is set just after the crocodile has leapt from the water to swallow the captain in the final battle between Hook and Pan._

* * *

**Chapter 1: In which the captain makes a bargain**

_Old. Alone. Done for._

The words echoed in his skull, throbbing and taunting as the beast roared through the water and closed its massive jaws around him.

_Well, that's it, then, _he thought, preparing for imminent oblivion in the belly of the crocodile, for the foul slime of the beast's innards to overwhelm him. Captain James Hook would expire at last in one magnificent gesture of futility and resignation.

But the fates were not so kind. The beast had apparently swallowed enough air that he could still breathe.

_Blast it to hell. _

He explicitly had not wanted to be aware at this point in his demise. He could feel the sides of the beast's stomach constricting him, a stinking vise of muscle dripping with stomach acid. He would have to endure this unholy prison until the air ran out, instead of the swift end he had expected.

_To die would be an awfully big adventure. _So Pan had said, when so recently facing his own demise. Hook considered the boy's words fitfully, twisting his shoulders in his dank prison, his own hook pressed into the flesh of his chest. To die, perhaps - but to die like this? This was no spectacular gesture. This was...demeaning. Risible. Something Pan and his band of dirty miscreants would giggle over had they but known.

With the thought of the boy, the first embers of fury began to burn in his belly.

_Not yet, _ thought Hook with a sudden vicious clarity, _not yet for me. _Thoughts of Pan were fueling him, firing his well-honed sense of revenge, leaving his despair in ashes. It was a brittle piteous thing, unworthy of him. _I will find a way to you, Pan. By the demons in the deepest bowels of hell, I will find a way._

His thoughts raced, as his body had little where else to go. His arms twitched, pinioned by the slick muscular wetness of the stomach walls. If he could just move the sharp steel of the hook to the right position...ah, but the stomach acid of the beast did burn, damn the accursed reptile! But there - yes, he could pierce the stomach wall just there-

_Stop._

The voice was low, commanding. He realized it was not spoken, but had insinuated itself directly into his mind. It was unnerving, to say the least.

_Who in blazes are you? _he thought furiously, pausing his hook before its plunge.

_What would you do to find this way of which you spoke? _continued the voice, smoothly ignoring his question. _What would you give?_

_What? What are you babbling about? _he spat back, preparing his hook again.

_I can give you a way to Pan._ The words crackled like frost in his mind, sharp and painfully suggestive.

Hook paused again.

_I see I have your attention. _There was a definite amusement in the words, a cadence of sly laughter.

The familiar burn of rage stirred in Hook's mind. _Indeed._

_Don't harm my pet, and we will speak more on this._

Hook grit his teeth, assessing possibilities. _And how shall I survive inside your "pet" until that blessed event? _

_Count to ten, _came the insouciant reply.

_What the bloody hell? _The rage was a pulsing thing now, turning his inner vision red.

_Indulge me please, Captain. If you would be so kind._

The polite turn of phrase startled him, catching his attention for a moment. His vision faded again to black, as the rage within him quelled briefly. Good form was good form, even in this thrice-cursed bilge of a situation. One must always show good form. It was one rule he tried hard to keep to. Egregious physical discomfort was no excuse.

Resisting the urge to take a deep breath, he began. _One...two...three..._

When he reached eight, he was unceremoniously vomited onto the floor of a cave, along with vast quantities of slime and stomach acid. Sputtering and coughing, prone on the cave floor, he gasped for air that hadn't been inside a crocodile. At last, he was able to prop himself up on his elbows and turn to assess his surroundings.

Cold reptilian eyes regarded him from a few feet away. The beast's head and front legs were at eye level for him, with the rest of the massive, armored body submerged in the black, chill waters beyond.

He froze, a fine trembling running through him. The adrenaline surge was immediate, his muscles tensing, readying for swift and deadly action.

A low rumble came from the beast, and those vast jaws began to open.

His hook clanged suddenly against the rocky ground, an involuntary lapse of muscle control in his arm. The sound jolted him, reminded him of what else this beast had done so long ago, what it had taken from him.

The hot burn of rage began to smolder again within him as his vision took on the first tints of feral red. He dragged the hook against the rocky ground in a deliberate, violent motion, and bared his teeth. "You won't take me again without a fight, demon," he snarled quietly. He tensed his body to spring, as the beast opened its jaws all the wider and heaved itself forward.

"Stop, please. Both of you." The voice came from behind him, with that same sinuous confidence from the mental conversations before. It held a faint note of admonishment, almost as if it was chiding two boys caught playing a bit too roughly. It was a feminine voice, regal and cultured. Yet something about it warned him of a powerful threat behind the polite surface. It was most...invigorating.

The beast stilled itself at the sound of the voice, and settled back into the waters.

Hook turned his head slightly, noting a figure hidden in shadow. She was tall, elegant in limb. But beyond that, he could not tell in the dimness. She flicked a hand dismissively. "Thank you, Bubu."

For a moment, Hook couldn't imagine why she would call him such a ridiculous, silly-sounding name as Bubu. But then, realization dawned and he turned back just in time to see that great reptilian maw receding into the dark. Turning again to the shadowed figure, Hook couldn't contain himself. "Bubu?" he blurted, incredulous. "That's the name of that hellish creature?"

He could feel the amusement from the woman, like honeyed ice. "You were expecting something more...intimidating, perhaps?"

Hook closed his eyes briefly, shook his head, and slowly drew a breath as he stood up. Calm was required now, good form. "I'm not sure what I was expecting, madame." He paused. "Except perhaps that something might happen at the end of ten counts. Not eight."

This time he could see her smile, lights glittering off teeth in the darkness. "You started late, if you recall."

A slight smile tugged at his own lips in response, as a soft snort escaped him. "Well, I suppose I did, at that." After a moment, he decided the best way to proceed was likely to be caution and courtesy. With a formal bow, he said, "Captain James Hook, madame. I believe I owe you my life."

"I know who you are, captain. It's why I saved you."

He had expected as much, but pressed on. "I see. May I ask whom I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"I have been called the Witch, captain." There was a touch of disdain in her voice, a curl of regret. "You have heard of me, I'm sure. The mermaids do whisper so."

"Ah," he said, "of course." He had indeed heard of this witch. Really, who hadn't heard tales of a sea witch? But this one in particular, he had heard the mermaids of Neverland speak of with a vague horror and deep respect whenever the subject had come up. The mermaids were fairly fearsome sirens in their own right, so this witch was clearly no one to be trifled with.

He inclined his head, his voice smooth and accommodating. "Might I inquire what this simple pirate captain could offer a lady of your considerable skills and talents?" Of course, he was far from looking his best at this moment, but charm had rarely failed him when conversing with the gentler sex.

He caught another flash of a smile in the dripping darkness, the hint of that amused laughter. "My, you can be quite a silver-tongued fellow when you wish to be, can't you, captain? Even under such duress. But really, you are far from simple." She began to walk towards him, and her voice dropped low, humming with a liquid persuasion. "And that is why I want you."

She emerged into the silver-gray light, and she was a vision of winter beauty, gems clear as ice sparkling at neck and ears and fingers and wrist and throat. Lithe of limb and fair of face, aristocratic features framed by a wonder of silver hair, eyes the flashing blue of chill ocean waters, lips so ripe, so inviting, so cold and perfect...

His pulse began to race again, the blood to pump vigorously through him in a way he had thought nearly forgotten. It was heady, exhilarating, overwhelming.

_And dangerous._ With a concerted effort of will, he stilled the heat in his veins. This was a creature of power. He could not afford such things, not yet. "I see I'm not the only one with a silver tongue, madame."

Their was laughter in those cool eyes, and a definite approval. "Indeed, captain. But I digress. Let me tell you why I desire you."

Her words were deliberately suggestive, of course. He continued to breathe evenly, unbaited, and waited for her to continue.

"First and foremost, you are possessed of an acute sense of self. I saw it in the belly of the beast just now, and again as you controlled your more...carnal inquiries." She smiled at his sharp intake of breath. "That is a fine amount of self control, captain. A very fine amount indeed. It means you cannot easily be undone by unexpected events." She raised a delicate hand to his face, trailing her fingers across his cheek.

_Ah, such sweetness! _ He closed his eyes, willing his voice to neutrality. "And?"

Her laughter skittered across his skin like ice crystals. "A justified hatred of the boy Peter Pan."

His eyes snapped open and he felt a growl trickle from him, a thing of threat and promise.

"Yes, I know." She removed her hand slowly, a somewhat regretful smile on her lips. "I do know."

He breathed in, and then out once, measured and precise. "Anything else, madame?"

"A finely tuned code of honor." She raised a hand to quell his immediate snort. "No, listen before you scoff. You may have few enough scruples in the common way of things, but you abide the code you have established for yourself. You have good form in the face of many...difficult situations."

He considered this, as he regarded her. "What are these things to you?"

Her smile was immediate, sparkling as sun on snow. She moved closer to him, wrapping her graceful arms around his neck, close enough for him to breathe the deep sea scent of her. "I have a way to end Pan, captain."

He leveled his gaze at her, unblinking, and belligerently unmoved by her not-inconsiderable wiles. He was not some dunderhead to be taken in so easily. "So you intimated while I was...traveling with Bubu, madame. I repeat: What are my qualities to you?"

She tilted her head to the side, still smiling. "My plan requires a deft hand, captain, and a very particular sort of person with very particular desires. I believe you to be this sort of person."

He cocked an eyebrow, and allowed the ghost of a smile to echo hers. "I see. I admit that my interest is piqued."

"As I hoped it would be."

"Might I ask your interest in, as you say, ending Pan?"

Her smile sharpened, became a thing of edges and secrets. "You might. You know the entanglement of the boy with Neverland, do you not?"

He nodded, suddenly very aware of the nearness of her mouth to his, that tantalizing curve of lip.

"The boy has traveled to the mortal world too often, captain. He begins to feel things he shouldn't." Her voice was measured, deliberately neutral. "The land will fall apart if he and it are not disentangled soon."

His eyebrows raised again. "Altruistic motives, then?"

Her laughter was sudden, soft and bubbling around him. "Well, not entirely - I _am_ a witch, you know." She began to trace a finger along the length of his shoulder, letting nails bite ever so gently into skin.

He found his eyes involuntarily closing in stolen pleasure, and snapped them back to hers. "Mmm, indeed. And your more witch-like motives?"

"Suffice it to say that Neverland has been held back from its full potential for being tied to Pan."

"Ah, of course. And if he were, as you say, ended?"

She raised and lowered her shoulders in a gentle shrug, affecting innocence. "Why, I suppose the land would tune itself to other wills, were they strong enough."

He raised an eyebrow, a dry smile on his lips. "Such as, perhaps, yours."

Her smile mirrored his. "Perhaps."

He laughed in a short appreciative burst. "Well, I hardly need much convincing when it comes to Pan." He gave a pointed look at the graceful arms encircling him. "Tell me how we are to kill him, and I will do my best to help you in this pursuit."

"Ah, captain," she said sighed softly, almost chiding, "we don't kill him."

Darkness spread across his features as fast as thought, though his tone remained courteous. "No?"

She shook her head gently. "No. We force him," she said softly, "to grow up." Her eyes darkened, anticipatory. "We push him past this threshold he has hovered at for so long. A grown up Pan is no Pan at all, captain. He is something different entirely. Something this land will be far less interested in."

He closed his eyes briefly, feeling those tantalizing threads of hope abandon him. "Madame, I admire your ambition - truly I do. But the boy will not age within Neverland. And he cannot be removed from it against his will. The accursed land knows him. It protects him."

Her hands caressed the side of his face. "Its fairy magic is what protects him currently. If he were to be...severed from that magic, he would be yours for the taking."

He shook her hands from him with a jerk, looking at her with black suspicion. "_Taking_, madame? Taking how exactly, if not to kill?"

Her eyes flashed with approval of him again. "Nothing...improper. But haven't you ever considered what it would be like to control the boy, captain?" Her voice curled and coiled around him, caressing where her hands had been only moments before. "How good it would feel to have absolute power over his will?"

His pulse began to quicken.

"It would be so much more satisfying than merely killing him, don't you think? You could turn him into anything, _anything_ you wanted."

He inhaled sharply. His thoughts were thrumming, twisting, imagining.

"You could even make him into the very thing he despises. Make him," she said, the threads of possibility crackling in her voice, "into someone like _you_, captain."

His eyes narrowed suddenly, as complications became apparent. After a considered moment, he said, "He loathes pirates. And me especially. He would, I believe, prefer to die than ever submit to my will."

A confidence emanated from her, glacier cold. "But if he had no choice, captain - if circumstances were such that he could make no other choice...would it not be a fine revenge, to turn your enemy into the very thing he loathes? To remake him in your own image - you, whom he detests? Does this not tempt you," she asked, her voice kissing across him, "even a little?"

The possibilities burst forth again in his mind's eye, so clear and clean and sharp. Pan forced to comply with his will, Pan grounded and fearing his wrath as the rest of the crew did, as the rest of the _world_ did. Pan obeying his commands. Pan showing him proper respect. Pan, _his_.

Oh yes, that would do very well, indeed.

At last, inclining his head, he said, "You do present an attractive proposition."

She cupped her hand along his cheek. "I thought it might appeal to you. I give you a warning, however."

"Oh?" His eyes were focused again, sharp as daggers upon her.

"The way to accomplish this thing will require some sacrifice on your part."

Ah, of course. Such things always did. Images of Pan subjugated to his will flashed again before his eyes, heady as the finest wine. So sweet, so _right_...the intensity of his desire burned in his throat. "Madame, tell me how to accomplish this thing and I can promise you I will not care."

Her smile was brilliant, dazzling as sun on new snow. "I had hoped you would be of such an inclination. You do live up to my expectations of you so admirably." She turned suddenly, and linked one slender, pale arm through his. "Come, let us discuss this further."

_What a day is this._ He smiled in return, feeling the strong possibility of a very satisfactory turn of events at long last. "As you wish."


	2. In which the boy has troubles

_Author's Note: Thanks so much to my lovely reviewers! Your comments are wonderfully encouraging. :)_

* * *

**Chapter 2: In which the boy has troubles**

Sparkling stars and the blurred shapes of planets hurtled past Peter as he swooped back towards Neverland, with the first gray mossy tendrils of the familiar fog just coming into view. It was always a joyous thing, his return. The sun always shone, the jungle always bloomed, and adventures always awaited. He crowed his anticipation as the first golden rays of sunshine pierced the fog. Tinkerbell laughed delightedly, perched on his shoulder.

Dragging the fairy-dust sprinkled pirate ship back with him had slowed his return down a bit this time, but it would be worth it to have it back in the waters of Pirates Cove. Imagine the great fun he would have as captain of a scurvy pirate crew!

"Avast, ye scurvy dogs!" he yelled merrily at no one, waving his sword arm so vigorously that Tinkerbell was nearly dislodged.

She cast an annoyed look at him, while regaining her previous position.

Ah, there it was! A glimmer of emerald green and heady sun-streaked turquoise shone through the misty gray. He dove for it, soon feeling the sudden intense _rightness_ that always occurred when he crossed the border of Neverland.

"We're here, Tink!" he laughed, as he cannonballed his way through one fluffy pink cloud after another. The ship creaked behind him, and he could feel its immense bulk bearing down on him as he plummeted towards the diamond bright surface of the water.

Tinkerbell took quick note of the rapidity of the approaching sea surface, and gave a frightened yelp while clutching Peter's shoulder.

Peter grinned. "Don't worry, Tink."

Tinkerbell's eyes grew even wider and she began desperately tugging on Peter's ear.

"Ow! Stop it, Tink!" He shrugged her frantic attempts off and shot down faster than before. The massive structure behind him now cast a great shadow on the waters below him.

Just before he (and it) hit the water, he leveled out and shot forward so that the ship skidded into the Cove behind him with a tremendous splash of sea water that drenched everything within at least a mile radius, most particularly himself. And Tinkerbell.

Peter's laughter was a raucous, merry thing as he skimmed along the water's edge towards the shore, feeling the warm breeze drying the sea on his skin.

Tinkerbell, however, was not so amused.

She coughed and sputtered, her dress soaked, her hair dripping, her eyes and nose full of saltwater. After a few attempts, she managed to flutter into his line of sight just before they reached land and glare at him fiercely with her arms crossed.

"What?" asked Peter, grinning. "Lighten up, Tink - isn't it good to feel the sea on your skin?"

With a stomp of her tiny foot, Tinkerbell gave an inarticulate scream of frustration and turned to soddenly fly away from him.

A tightness filled Peter's chest suddenly, a disturbing hollowness that made him drop heavily onto the ground. "Wait, Tink! Tink, I'm sorry... " His voice wavered. "Please don't go..." He reached out a tentative hand to her.

His tone froze her. She turned suddenly, and looked at him, startled. The boy rarely apologized for anything, and never in a voice like that. After a moment's swift thought, she came back to him with a small tinkling "Hmph!", and stuck her tongue out at him before settling into his hand.

His grin resurfaced. "I knew you'd forgive me."

Tinkerbell rolled her eyes, and then stretched out into the sun to dry.

* * *

Night fell upon the island in a wave, darkness muting the colors of the jungle so the stars could glitter in the black velvet of the sky. The cries of the jungle creatures could be heard, lonesome wailing things that penetrated even the snug enclosure of the familiar tree hideout where Peter and Tinkerbell were.

Tinkerbell was worried about her Boy. They used to laugh at those animal calls, to mimic them and mock them together. But Peter was huddled into a corner now, arms clasped around his knees, withdrawn and unresponsive. His eyes would dart here and there to discarded objects from the Lost Boys or the blasted Wendy girl, but then stop, seeming to stare at nothing.

It was difficult for Tinkerbell to hold a thought in her mind for very long, but this one kept flitting back in. _Something is wrong with him. Something is different._

She zoomed towards him, trying to startle him out of his silence yet again. Her fairy light danced back and forth across his eyes, but Peter was not looking. Or more truthfully, he wasn't _seeing_. Or at least, not seeing her.

Being ignored irritated her to no end. She hovered in front of him and did a mocking impersonation of him, arms crossed with an impossibly brooding face.

He stared past her, eyes glittering in the dark. Suddenly, a wrenching gasp came from him, and he buried his head in his arms and would not look up at all.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, deep and threatening.

Tinkerbell began to be afraid, just a little, a coldness running along her spine. She flew to his ear, one delicate hand stroking his skin as she trilled a gentle song, meant to soothe, a lullaby of green trees and golden sun and endless games. It was a song she had sung to him before, and it had never failed to calm him the few times he had been noticeably upset.

She noticed the wetness at the edges of his face as she finished her singing. Curious, she flew close enough to taste one of the tears, and oh! Such something...sadness, was it?... such..._loneliness._ It drove her to the ground gasping, the misery of it.

After a few moments, she regained herself, thinking furiously. What to do, what to do...this required something more than a simple lullaby.

At last, she flew up again to his alight on his shoulder, next to his ear. The song she sang this time was a more ancient one than before, a song-spell of sleep, woven with fairy will. Its droning notes carried an implicit command, a compulsion to give in to unconsciousness, to sleep without dreams. She had been trained in its melody, but had never used it on her Boy before. She had hoped she never would have to - for her Boy to be in such a state to need it...

But clearly he was. If she could just give her Boy a reprieve from this heavy stone-gray _thing_ inside of him, everything else would be alright. His memories would right themselves, just as they always had. As long as he wasn't changed too much by whatever this...feeling...was.

His breathing settled into the quiet rhythm of sleep as her voice continued to weave its ancient patterns, her fairy light flickering fitfully in the darkness of the tree, causing shadows to dance across his skin.

Outside, mournful howl followed mournful howl, a cacophony of cries against the continuing rumble of thunder.

Tinkerbell closed her eyes, shivering, one thought filling her entirely._ Peter, please be better soon._

* * *

Tinkerbell awoke in the morning to the sound of Peter's crowing - and it was just as it always had been, a merry sound bright as the sun itself. With a momentous sigh of relief, she flitted in front of him, smiling and grumbling good-naturedly about her rude awakening.

Peter grinned back at her. "C'mon, Tink - let's head outside. This place looks like someone's been making their nest here. We don't want them to catch us in their hideout!" He began walking around, looking for all the world as if he didn't know the way out. "I wonder how you get out of this place..." he muttered to himself. "Tink, come help me! How did we get in here anyway?"

Tinkerbell looked at him for a long moment, bobbing irregularly behind him. Was this a Pretend, that the tree home was some unfamiliar place they'd never been? It would suit her just fine not to be reminded of the Wendy girl, of course. Perhaps this was Peter's way of signaling his desire for a new place that was theirs alone. A thrum of happiness filled Tinkerbell, and she alighted on his shoulder to help him search for an exit.

After a few more moments of searching, they found a promising hole and she suggested that perhaps they might want to take some of the things here with them before they left. She motioned pointedly at the panpipe hanging over Peter's old spot.

"Oooh, what's that, Tink?" He picked up the pipes and began tapping them experimentally.

Tinkerbell mimed blowing into the pipes, puffing her cheeks out grotesquely in parody.

Peter blew an inexperienced blast into the pipes, producing a set of piercing, off-key pitches. He jumped at the sound, and giggled at how awful it was. "A great weapon for frightening the beasts of the jungle! They will flee from my terrible sounds!"

Tinkerbell made a face, and shook her head.

Peter grinned back at her. "Well, maybe I should practice this thing and learn to play something that sounds better. What do you think, Tink?"

She looked at him strangely for a moment again, narrowing her eyes as she watched him fly out of the tree - it really was as if he'd never played his panpipes before. But no, it must be that he was he was doing an especially good Pretend. He wouldn't have lost his memories of his own panpipes, would he?

But perhaps he had. He had played them often while the Lost Boys were around, and if they were somehow part of his sadness, his memory of the pipes might have gone with the boys...

Well, he could always learn the pipes again, if that was so. And it was far better for him to have lost his memory of the tree and his pipes than to have that heavy, gray feeling clouding up his insides. Far, far better. Besides, this way it would be just her and her Boy again, as it had been long before any Lost Boy ever set foot in Neverland. Or that horrible Wendy girl.

In any event, he certainly remembered his fairy. And that was good enough for Tinkerbell.

With a smug harumph, she trailed after her Boy.

* * *

Tinkerbell hovered behind her Boy, surveying his latest teepee construction attempt. The Indians hadn't returned yet, but Tinkerbell was willing to bet they wouldn't be nearly so pleased with Peter's version of their teepee - especially since he had destroyed their old one in the making of the new one. Still, it had filled his eyes with happy mischief, and that was just fine by Tinkerbell.

"I bet Tiger Lily will love what I've done with this!" he crowed, bounding around from one edge of his structure to the other.

Tinkerbell's eyes darkened slightly. Other females were not to be trusted - surely the Wendy girl had been a strong lesson in that! Of course, Peter didn't remember Wendy any more. But that didn't mean Tinkerbell had forgotten.

Tinkerbell spied the Indians returning in the distance. Well, this would fix itself soon enough.

Peter zipped up to perch on a nearby tree branch. "Oooh, look, Tink! They're back!" He laughed with delight. "Tiger Lily should be with them - let's see what she thinks of my beautiful teepee!"

He waited for the Indian princess to approach, bouncing slightly on the tree branch.

After a few moments, Tiger Lily reached where he and Tinkerbell were, and stopped suddenly.

Peter watched her closely as she blinked and didn't move. After some moments of careful observation, he figured out what her expression meant.

For some reason, Tiger Lily didn't seem particularly pleased.

Peter put on his best grin. "Don't you like my teepee, Tiger Lily? I think it's much better than those boring one you had before - and it uses all the same parts!"

Tiger Lily glanced at Tinkerbell briefly, but the fairy said nothing, floating behind Peter with her arms crossed. "It's very…creative, Peter," said Tiger Lily. She traced a finger down a crooked set of stitches, which caused the entire structure to wobble precariously. "But it is not very sound - it will not keep out the wind and the rain, the way the one we built did."

Peter's face fell.

Tiger Lily took a deep breath, and then said, "I think you should go, Peter. The other members of my tribe will not be happy with you. They must rebuild this teepee before dark tonight, and they have already done much today."

Peter sank to the ground before managing a bright smile. "I can help them," he said, a foreign note of pleading shadowing his voice.

Tiger Lily shook her head firmly. "It is better if you are not here today." She looked again at Peter's creation. "And perhaps not tomorrow either."

Her dismissal stung him, a sharpness that caused his breathing to hitch. "Fine," he mumbled, "I didn't want to play with you, anyway." He turned suddenly, and ran quickly into the waiting jungle with Tinkerbell trailing behind.

Tiger Lily watched them go, consternation darkening her eyes. The sky of Neverland was overcast again, and a cold wind had begun to blow.

* * *

After a good bit of running, Peter stopped and slunk down against a great tree. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and his head on his arms.

Tinkerbell looked on with slight worry as his eyes seemed to stare at nothing.

Suddenly, he blinked hard and shook himself, as if waking up. "I wasn't asleep!" he exclaimed, flashing a grin at her.

Sunshine glowed gently through the jungle canopy again.

Tinkerbell smiled back at him. In a happier mood now, she did an impromptu pantomime of a made-up adventure where she and Peter stole a feather from an Indian chief's headdress to show how clever they were.

Peter laughed and clapped his hands delightedly, and shot up into the air. "That's a wonderful idea, Tink! I wonder if we can find some Indians around here somewhere."

Tinkerbell's breath caught for a moment as she watched him zoom higher into the jungle canopy. He'd lost the Indians and Tiger Lily now, too. While she didn't mind him losing the memory of the Indian princess, she began to wonder how much of his memory he was going to lose.

She was filled with a sudden, encompassing anger - look at how much the Wendy girl had tainted! How vulnerable she had made Peter! Any rejection seemed to trigger these terrible _feelings_ he had, and then his memory defenses awoke. Stupid, stupid human girl! Clearly, Tinkerbell should have tried harder to slay her when she first arrived at Neverland.

Still…at least the memory defenses were still working. And if it meant that he didn't remember anyone except for Tinkerbell, well perhaps that was alright in the end. Perhaps it would go back to the way it was when Peter first arrived so long ago. Just the two of them against the rest of Neverland.

Considerably cheered by this thought, she followed her Boy up into the green.

* * *

"Hey, Tink? Don't you wish we had someone else to play with sometimes?"

Tinkerbell stared hard at him, her ire rising.

Peter caught her look, and laughed. "You're still my fairy, Tink! But wouldn't it be more fun to have someone else around sometimes? You and me, we could team up against them. We could fight 'em and show 'em who's the best on this island!"

Tinkerbell did have to admit that this had possibilities. She shrugged and let a half-smile slip to show she wasn't mad at him anymore. Then, she spread her arms wide, palms up. Did he have someone in mind?

"We-e-ell…," he said, "I did see some mermaids in the lagoon the other night. I know they seem pretty fierce, but one of them winked at me, so maybe she'd play with us?"

Unfortunately, by the time he reached the word "mermaids", Tinkerbell had stopped listening, having spun herself into a great fit of incoherent pique. She jumped and contorted, her rage clear in her body language. _Another_ female? Another female after her Boy? Weren't they always, the tricksy fish-gutted wretches…and he didn't ever seem to learn! Stupid boy! Stupid, stupid boy with his stupid wishes for stupid other females, and if he wanted to flit around with those cold-bellied behemoths, well he should just go ahead because _she_ wasn't going to tag along and watch some female hurt him _again_ and-

She finished with a wordless shriek of frustration, and then flew away in a jealous puff of fairy dust.

Peter stared after her rapidly diminishing form in confusion. Some other female hurting him again? But there was only Tink…though her leaving did cause a constricting heaviness in his chest. He swallowed hard.

But she would be back. Tink always came back. Always. And he would tease her thoroughly when she did. So it would be alright.

Heartened, he streaked into the sky, and headed for the lagoon. In the meantime, he'd make some new friends. He didn't need Tink to play and have adventures. He could do just fine for awhile on his own!

* * *

The mermaid who had winked him was drifting lazily on the surface of the lagoon, moonlight playing off her glittering skin. When she caught sight of him perched on a nearby rock, looking down into the dark waters quizzically, she beckoned him closer with a decidedly secretive smile.

But she was inviting him, welcoming him to join her - the feeling was heady, exhilarating enough to ignore the undertones of her smile. Peter flashed her wide grin before plunging headlong into the swirling waters.

When he resurfaced, he found his mermaid had been joined by others. They had made a circle around him, looking rather predatory with their sharp teeth bared and their icy gazes fixed on him. One of them made a grab for him.

Peter easily evaded her and grinned all the wider. "Is this a game? Can't get me, can't catch me, nyah nyah nyah!"

An irritated hiss followed him as he dove over her and then down, streaking through the water like an eel. Glittering hands grasped at his feet and shoulders and elbows, but could not seem to keep hold. Every time he resurfaced, his laughter trailed after him, bright as bells.

But soon he noticed he was no longer in the lagoon, no longer even anywhere near the lagoon. The waters here were shallower, ranker, and the rocks were different - sharp jagged points, both above and below. A sinister silence stretched around him. There were no gentle undercurrents signaling his lovely pursuers either.

"Hello-o-o-o," he called, singing the notes out. His voice echoed solemnly around him for several heartbeats.

Then, a terrifying, deep roar exploded from all around him, stunning him into immobility.

An instinct of self-preservation shocked him back into action, and he swam fast, faster, faster...


	3. In which things are remembered

**Chapter 3: In which things are remembered**

Peter coughed and sputtered as he crawled onto the cave floor, safe at last from the crocodile. Looking up, he saw a most strange sight, eerily familiar. Two forget-me-not blue eyes peered imperiously down at him from the shadowed, towering form above.

Something _twisted_ uncomfortably inside Peter's mind, and a flicker of recognition passed suddenly through him. "Captain...?" he murmured, voice gone soft with half-memories. "Captain... something... I know you, Captain... pirate... Captain..."

"Hook, boy!" growled the menacing figure, brandishing the metal claw that still managed to gleam dully in the dim light. "Your memory truly is as wretched as she said." Tones of disgust and disbelief mingled in the resonant, cultured voice. After a moment, he reached down to lift the boy up, hook beneath the soft flesh of the chin, left hand clamped firmly on the golden arm. He confiscated the boy's dagger in a swift, practiced motion. With a rather ungentlemanly snort, he commented, "It's a good thing I aborted my flamboyant demise after all."

A sudden desperate lightness filled the boy's eyes, and the words spilled out of him. "It's you! You're not gone! We can still play and have our battles!"

Hook raised an eyebrow, the metal pressing more firmly into Peter's throat, cutting off the spray of words. "I would have thought it a cold day in hell before you missed me, boy."

Peter's mouth compressed, and he looked down suddenly. "Lonely," he whispered, his words clipped. "Tink...mad at me. Gone."

Hook stared at him. Loneliness? From the golden boy of Neverland?

"I told you, Captain," came the cool voice from far behind him, echoing off the cave walls, "he is on the cusp from all his visiting of the mortal world. The seeds are blossoming - now is the time. The memory spell can only counteract so much, after all."

"I admit I had my doubts, madame," Hook called back, leveling a considering look at the boy. "But clearly, I should not have." He grabbed Peter's right arm with his left hand, and began dragging him forward. "Come, boy, you have an appointment with a very clever lady."

Peter struggled briefly - a token effort, really - and his curiosity soon got the better of him as they moved deeper into the dank cave. "Who is she? What's she do that's so clever? Is she as clever as me?"

Hook cast a sharp glance at the boy, who was beginning to bounce ever so slightly in his eagerness. Peter seemed thoroughly unbothered that he was being hauled into a rather intimidating dark abyss by his mortal enemy. He seemed, rather, to simply be pleased at the company. "Remarkable," Hook muttered.

After several turns, they stopped in a chamber whose oppressive darkness was barely relieved by glowing lichen upon the dripping walls.

Peter laughed. "What a fantastic hiding place! They'd never find me here!"

"Who, boy?" asked Hook.

Peter's face fell in a wave of confusion. "Friends? Mermaids… no, other children, my friends...we play hide-and-go-seek sometimes. I think. They have names..."

Hook growled sharply, "They're gone, boy." His words came sudden and swift, almost pulled from him. "Just like everyone else who has left you. No fairies. No mermaids." His voice dropped low, cruelly intimate. "No friends."

It was Peter's turn to stare, eyes glistening suddenly.

Ah yes, Hook recognized the feel of those whispers in his mind - this was the beginning of his part in the workings with the witch, probably due to the spell on the clear-gemmed ring he now wore. He let the coldness weave through his voice, let the smooth, silky words flow. "There is no one, Peter," he breathed, "who cares about you."

Despair, gray and vile, choked Peter, weighed him down as surely as metal chains. He could not draw breath with the weight of it.

A sudden memory blazed in him, straightened him, let him gasp out, "Wendy cares about me!"

"Does she now?" Hook cocked a disdainful eyebrow. "And where _is_ dear Wendy?"

Silence came from Peter then. His eyes closed suddenly, and wetness streaked onto his cheek.

Hook's voice was cold, precise, uncaring as the black depths of the sea. "You are _alone_, Peter."

A small muffled sob burst from Peter then, a failed attempt at bravery. He tried to pull away from Hook in his misery, but Hook's grip was firm. Desperation vibrated through the boy.

But suddenly, the human contact of the captain registered, however rough that contact may have been. "You...you're here with me."

A small smile twisted Hook's lips, satisfaction pumping through his veins. "Yes, I suppose I am, aren't I? For now."

The boy stepped closer to him, raising his right hand to touch the strong arm that held his, clearly preferring Hook's familiar harsh presence to no presence at all.

Hook switched his grip suddenly, placing his left hand gruffly around the boy's neck, drawing him close enough to wrap his right arm across the boy's chest, with the hook conveniently in the boy's line of sight.

Peter struggled, small cries escaping him as he twisted fiercely against the captain, his hands scrabbling against Hook's arms.

"Now, now," said Hook, drawing the smooth metal of the claw to press against the boy's still-wet cheek, "enough of that. There's no one," he whispered, "_no one_ to care if I marred that pretty face of yours, and my hook could be feeling...spirited."

Peter froze, Hook's words slicing more deeply than the claw could. No one to care? No, there was no one, no one at all...Tink didn't care anymore, and there had never been anyone else, or had there? He couldn't remember anyone... Despair swirled again within him, clenching his belly, making it so hard to breathe.

With a soft gasp, Peter turned abruptly away from the hook, burying his face against the bend of the captain's right arm. Muffled words came as hoarse whispers, a piteous chant. "No one...no one...no one..."

As Peter was firmly pressed against him, Hook was overcome by a most peculiar feeling. Assuming it was another part of the witch's spell (and she had warned him such things might occur), he did not fight it and allowed his left hand to raise from the boy's neck and rest gently atop Peter's head.

"No one," murmured the captain, his voice deep, "but me, Peter."

Peter's hands raised suddenly to wind about the captain's arms. Hook quickly ascertained that it wasn't an attempt to escape, but rather a seeking of comfort from touch. Most…novel. A not unpleasant warmth filled Hook's chest as Peter's small body shook silently against his.

Ah, it was exactly as the witch had predicted! So obvious - how had he missed it all these years? But then, he was no witch, after all, to see such things, to know such things. Though he had been getting close with that last encounter before the crocodile, reminding Peter that Wendy would leave him. Well, before the girl gave him that accursed "thimble". Now, there was a clever little thing...pity he hadn't been able to entice her to join the crew. Still, the boy was a fine prize in his own right. A very fine prize, indeed.

Hook marveled for a moment at the boy, who had been for so long a fearsome adversary. He barely came up to Hook's chest, and he had been so very easy, in the end, to take down. So vulnerable, if only one knew where to press.

"I see you've brought our guest, captain." The witch was suddenly there, a chill presence standing serenely next to the captain and his quivering bundle. "Excellent - we have much work to do, and time is short."

* * *

"What is wrong with him, madame?" Hook meant his question to be merely inquisitive, but it came out as something more. Concern, almost. Certainly something he hadn't felt in some time for another human besides himself. Hook closed his eyes briefly. Well, at least the witch had warned him. As sacrifices went, this one was fairly pleasant. He simply hoped it wouldn't interfere with his pirating.

The witch made a derisive noise, as she placed a clear gem in her hand and closed her eyes. "The memory spell has been cleaning up his mind for so long, striving to retain that crucial innocence. Idiot fairies. They should know better than to try to make a mortal child fey. They had to expect it to collapse some time." She paused. "Though I suppose they might have had something else prepared to transition him when it did." She spared an almost sympathetic glance for the boy. "Though perhaps not - fairies aren't known for their long-term planning." She closed her eyes again, sinking back into her work. "Fortunately, I'll have something in place for him shortly, if all goes well."

Hook looked again at Peter, his breath catching. The boy was a heap against the dank ground, huddled into a corner in fetal position, body compressed into as small a space as it could, eyes searching in the semi-darkness, but never resting. Blood trickled from his nose. Soft whimpers and moans rattled through the boy, pathetic cries of anguish. He had begun to scrape his hands across the rough surface of the floor again.

Hook could not keep his silence. "What could he have experienced that could cause such...imbalance were it remembered?"

The witch opened her eyes briefly, and regarded the captain. "Have you ever lost someone, captain?"

"Of course," he replied. "Haven't we all?"

She continued to look at him calmly. "Do you remember the pain of that first loss when it was fresh? What it felt like to know that wound in that moment?" Her voice began to build into the cadence of a litany, a storyteller's lilt wending and weaving. "Do you remember," she breathed, "the stab of anguish, the weight of despair? The crazed desire to do something - anything - everything? Do you remember," she whispered, her words thrumming with intent, "the helplessness, the fear, and the betrayal? Do you remember what it is like," her voice was so low that it seemed to resonate with the very stone of the walls, "to have no defenses - none at all - for these _feelings_ inside of you?"

Hook nodded, grimly silent, muted memories of his own replaying painfully in his mind.

"Peter has lost so many during his time here, captain." She closed her eyes and resumed her concentration on the gem in her hand. Her voice was gentle as she continued, "He is remembering them all now, as if it is the first time for them all."

Hook turned to stare at the boy in a fine shock of empathy. It was…harrowing to witness. Each cry, each sob and shudder seemed to produce an echo in Hook's own body, a ripping torture of feeling. At last, swallowing once, he spoke. "I would not wish this upon my worst enemy."

"Not now, you wouldn't," replied the witch softly, her fingers absently trailing to the clear gems along her throat. "But it is what it is. Enjoy this part of your revenge, pirate captain."

Hook snarled at her, eyes flashing. "I cannot _enjoy _this...this atrocity, madame. What kind of monster do you think me?"

A small smile creased her lips. "As I said, you are the very sort of man I have been looking for. But give me a moment, captain - once I complete this, we can end the boy's suffering." She gave him a considering look of approval. "And yours."

Hook flushed, but held his peace.

She began to sing, low and throaty and haunting, strange sibilant syllables, harsh and hissing, that made shivers of some unidentifiable emotion run along Hook's spine.

The boy's sudden moans sliced through Hook's thoughts, causing his breath to hitch. He couldn't just let the boy sit there all alone, not like this.

He approached Peter, extending a hand to touch the boy's shoulder. "Peter," he called softly.

Peter cried out, curling away from the touch like a wounded animal. A hoarse, sobbing chant issued from the boy, "Alonealonealonealone..." It trailed off in a despairing gasp.

Hook paused, uncertainty flooding him. He had never been good at comfort. Helplessness clenched his jaw - but then he felt a pulse from the ring on his ring finger. It was an urge, light but directive. Well, if witchery could help this situation, he would gladly take it. His chest ached with a most unpleasant sensation as he watched Peter.

He moved closer to the boy, sitting next to the small form. He was close enough to feel the spare warmth from Peter's body, but not yet touching. "Peter," he called again, his voice deep, calm as the sea.

Peter's breath halted for a moment, then resumed its thready pace. He was listening, though still shaking uncontrollably.

"Ah, boy, what have we done?" Hook murmured.

With a sudden inspiration, he wrapped his arms around Peter and placed the boy into his lap, holding him tight as Peter fought in a frenzied panic. He held the boy close enough to feel the wild heartbeat pumping so furiously in the young chest.

"Peter," he whispered, "I am here." His voice was so low, more a soothing rumble than something audible. "I am here, Peter. I am with you. I will not leave you."

Peter froze suddenly. A moment stretched between boy and man, as the man hoped with an intensity he had not felt in a long, long time.

With a sudden low wail, Peter buried himself in Hook's chest, the hot wetness of his tears coating Hook's skin.

_Not quite how I had imagined seeing Pan's tears,_ thought Hook, a thread of wryness permeating what he recognized, after a moment, as abject relief_._ A most curious lightness filled his chest as he stroked the back of Peter's head while the boy sobbed into him. Holding Peter to him, he murmured into the boy's hair, "I am here, Peter. I am here."

Under Hook's touch, Peter quieted and the rhythm of his breathing softened, became more regular. Hook remained sitting, lost in his own thoughts, feeling the tempo of his enemy's heartbeat against him, beating so strong, that enemy - that _boy_ - sleeping so trustingly in his arms.

Him, of all people.

A peace settled over him that he hadn't known in a very long time. The fates were very strange indeed.

* * *

"Captain," called a voice of frost and ice, "we are ready."

Hook jolted awake, his sudden movement startling Peter into alertness.

"The boy is needed here," said the witch. "Now."

Panic tightened every muscle on Peter's body. "Don't leave me, please don't leave me!" His words were rushed, frantic, piteous, his hands clinging tightly to the captain's arms.

The words came from Hook's mouth before he could think. "We'll go together, my boy."

And with that, they stood together and walked towards the witch, Peter's right hand wrapped tightly around the captain's left. A most peculiar feeling filled Hook - like possessiveness, but warmer, fuller. He pondered it as they approached.

The web shown bright against the wall by the witch, a luminous weaving with strange stones and feathers and shells embedded in it.

The cave rumbled ominously, threatening.

"The land responds, captain. We must begin."

Peter turned to Hook, a look of pleading on his face. "I'm scared," he whispered, high and fast, his whole body shuddering. "Don't leave me here." His grip tightened fiercely around the man's hand. "Please don't leave me here."

Moved by some unfamiliar notion, Hook lowered himself to his knees to face Peter, his left hand a strong warmth on the boy's shoulder. "Peter, my lad," he said, his voice soft with a curious warmth, "you are the bravest boy I have ever known." He gave a gentle squeeze to the boy's shoulder. "The _bravest_. Do this thing - and I know you can, my boy, because you have done so very many brave things - do this thing, and I promise, on my honor as a gentleman, that we will leave this place together. I swear I will take you with me."

Peter's eyes locked on Hook's, and neither breathed for a moment as the cave walls shook around them.

"On your honor," said Peter, his voice tight with the need to believe.

"Yes," replied Hook, "I swear it."

With sudden decision, Peter turned to look at the witch, who stood so serenely by her web in the midst of land's quaking . Her eyes glowed a strange icy-blue, the color of snow that has been frozen for a very long time. In a liquid motion, she held out a set of battered wooden panpipes to Peter, so familiar and full of memory. "Play your pipes," she intoned in a voice thrumming with the power of winter, "Play them, Peter Pan, and think of Neverland."

Peter looked once more at the captain, who was still on his knees, waiting and watching. Something in his eyes eased the shuddering in Peter's core, made the ache lessen, dissipate. Peter took the pipes from the witch.

As Peter played, a green-gold light built around him, shot through with streaks of deep angry crimson, like instabilities.

"There, you see," murmured the witch to the captain. "I was right. Idiot fairies."

Hook raised an eyebrow, and inclined his head in agreement.

Peter, immersed in his playing, was oblivious to their exchange. As he continued, the green-gold light with its crimson cracks coalesced into a golden sphere floating at his chest, overlaid with his heart, brightening and dimming in time with his heartbeat. It suddenly detached itself, causing Peter to inhale sharply and cease his playing. The sphere shot towards the witch's luminous web, and with a sizzling shower of sparks, it embedded itself in the clear gem at the center, humming and pulsing.

The witch walked toward the web and pressed her body against it, chest at the height of the web's center. The light began to pulse, to shift, becoming a solid milky white that gently glowed with a steady thrum. The witch gasped suddenly, arching her back, and then the light was gone.

The cave ceased its volatile shaking as if it had never been doing such a thing in the first place.

In the back of Peter's mind, there was a half-heard sound of mourning, as if a thousand fairies were suddenly crying out all at once, and then were silenced. Peter moved back towards Hook, feeling stronger, less hollow as he approached the man.

The witch turned around, smiling at them both. Her skin and hair had blanched to the same milky white as the light had been, and the echoes of Neverland's power thundered in her voice. "Perfect, captain. It has gone just as I hoped it would."

"And this, madame?" Hook said, glancing down at the boy who had begun to shiver, but who nonetheless stood straight and tall and brave, waiting for the captain's will.

"This will go well if you are the man I believe you to be, captain. Take your boy. Leave this place. Neverland obeys me now, and I have no wish to delay you in your leaving."

Peter turned to him, shoulders squared, hope cresting in his eyes. "Can I go with you now?" The trembling overtook him for a moment. "Please," he whispered.

Hook drew the boy close to him, until both hand and hook rested gently on the boy's shoulders. He looked at Peter with what he realized was paternal feeling (wonders truly _would_ never cease), and smiled, a small, wry, thoroughly roguish sort of smile. "Have you ever wanted," he said at last, "to be a pirate, me hearty?"

A sudden sparkle appeared in those boyish eyes, a look Hook had feared never to see again. "Yes," said Peter, an echoing smile appearing on his face, bright as a sunrise.

"Then, my boy," said Hook, standing up, "come with me. And we will have such adventures together, they will write stories of us forever."

"I like the sound of forever," laughed Peter softly, the simple golden sound rising gently from his hoarse throat.

Peter's laughter evinced an answering warmth from the captain, a novelty that filled Hook with such lightness, all he could do was laugh with the boy. And with Peter's shoulders tucked snugly beneath Hook's left arm, man and boy walked together from the chamber of the witch.

* * *

_Author's Notes: _

_Thanks so much to my readers for your lovely, encouraging comments! This concludes this snapshot-story, and thanks again to Enola for the original inspiration for it._

_Reference: "...were suddenly crying out all at once, and then were silenced" - purloined shamelessly from Star Wars_


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